


Believe in You and I

by greenbucket



Series: Late Night [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming Out, Emotional Constipation, F/F, Lack of Communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-06-24 16:03:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15634032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenbucket/pseuds/greenbucket
Summary: Lardo isn’t sure why she hasn’t told anyone on the team that she’s got a girlfriend.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For my Ford/Lardo and secret relationship squares in the OMGCP Rarepair Bingo

Lardo isn’t sure why she hasn’t told anyone on the team that she’s got a girlfriend. She isn’t sure why she hasn’t told any of her art friends about Ford either, or her parents, or why she hasn’t brought up something like making it Facebook official.

Not that Ford has brought up that last one either.

Like, she knows people aren’t going to be shitbags about it; it’s _Samwell_ , for one thing, and the couple of times Lardo’s heard dudes making haha-girls-making-out-is-hot comments they’ve been shut down pretty fast.

Lardo hasn’t ever, like, officially come out but she’s dropped enough hints and discussed enough deets that she figures people have gathered she’s bi and are chill with it (except a little bit not as chill when it comes to her parents, who she did sort of semi-officially tell, which kinda sucks, but they’re not _unchill_ either _,_ so). Lardo potentially having a girlfriend at some point in life kind of comes with the whole deal.

So it’s not like dating Ford is going to shatter anyone’s perspective of her, apart from the distant relatives she has on Facebook, and she already has to put up with pointed comments about her degree from them at family gatherings so whatever. Okay, maybe not entirely whatever, but Lardo hasn’t ever let all of that hold her back from doing what she wants.

So, really, it doesn’t make any sense why she hasn’t told anyone that her and Ford are a thing. Like, officially giving the whole dating thing a go and going the whole nine yards of being girlfriends, even though they’re on opposite sides of the fucking country. 

They text, and they Skype, and they have a Snapchat streak that would make Rans and Holster jealous. Lardo had to give herself a good three quarters of an hour solitude to get over it when Ford told her she’d considered Samwell then picked Washington: in some parallel universe they get to actually _see_ other, and what kind of cosmic injustice is it that instead they’re in the worst timeline and 3000ish miles apart, what the _fuck_.

It’s been almost five months of dating and they sailed past the saying-I-love-you point long enough ago Lardo doesn’t even hesitate when she says it anymore.

But she still doesn’t tell anyone.

And now it’s March, and Ford is talking about coming to Samwell after finals.

“I just think it makes more sense for me to come to you,” Ford says, pixelated and stuttering over the shitty connection, “since I’ll be going that general direction anyway, you know? And I wanna see all the famous Samwell sights you’ve told me about.”

“You really wanna smell the Haus Stench for yourself?” asks Lardo, half genuine incredulity and half stalling.

Like, sure, Samwell is swawesome – parents love to tell her how pretty campus is when she works open houses – and the Haus is Lardo’s fucking home, but no amount of scrubbing and pie-baking is going to rid it of its beer and hockey player stink. Plus, if Ford visits not only will her innocence be lost forever, she’ll also realise Lardo hasn’t told anyone about her.

“Sure I do,” says Ford, with all the bright confidence of someone that’s never stepped foot in the Haus. “I want to see the lakes and the quads and Kotter and- and we could have brunch at Jerry’s! Or get coffee at Annie’s?”

Lardo allows herself for to indulge for a moment in the thought of waking up to Ford in her bed, getting ready side by side and walking to Jbrizzle. Sharing one of the smaller, more coupley booths and probs splitting dishes to get a little taste of everything, maybe letting their feet press together under the table and all kinds of cutesy junk. It sounds like a dream. But it would be a dream taking place in Lardo’s room in the Haus, in one of the most popular Samwell student haunts, and Lardo still hasn’t told anyone; the magic of the dream bursts.

What she says is, “Sounds like someone’s regretting picking UW over Samwell right about now, brah.”

Ford scoffs, “As if,” and then, more sweetly, “But really, I just… miss you. And I want to see the places you’ve been and mention all the time! And, well, maybe come to graduation? But it’s okay if that’s not okay, I know there are limited tickets and it’s, you know, whatever.”

Lardo’s stomach swoops, and not only because that means Ford meeting her parents as well as all her friends; graduation is still graduation.

“No, dude, get real,” Lardo says with a lot more chill and confidence than she feels. She just needs to tell Ford at some point that the Samwell crew know _of_ her, just not that she’s Lardo’s girlfriend. No big. “Of course I want you to be there. Idk about those tickets, though. Like, parents and stuff.”

“That’s cool, I’ll just awkwardly hover at the back and yell really loud when you get on stage so you can hear me. Yelling is like eighty percent of my job so I’m great at it.”

Lardo really, really doesn’t know what’s holding her back from telling people, because in that moment she feels so mushy it’s kinda terrible. “You’re so talented, babe.”

“I know,” says Ford, preening a little. “Okay, wait, let me get my diary. You said you guys were moving out pretty much the second you’re done? I can help carry boxes, but I don’t want to get in the way.”

Her, Ford, Rans and Holster in a car together all the way up to Boston. Cool. No problem. “It’s chill. Bits did promise Jack will get us tickets if the Falconers are still in the playoffs, so maybe going to Providence after? But either way we are gonna get _schwasted_.”

“Sweet. All right, I could come a little bit before graduation then drive up with you guys to see my aunt and party a little then head home?”

“Partying it up in Boston again, huh? Life comes full circle,” Lardo says, even though that whole period and Lardo ghosting is understandably still a bit of a sore spot. “You don’t wanna see if I can get you a ticket to the game?”

Ford gives her a look. “Larissa.”

Lardo sighs. “You could like hockey if you just gave it a chance, bro. Jack gets us the most kickass seats, no way you won’t fall a bajillion percent in love.”

“Sure.”

“Dude, I’m serious.”

There’s the clicking of the keyboard on Ford’s end and then, “Nope, no can do, Google tells me the Schooners might have a shot. Can’t root against the home team.”

“Bro, you’re from Wisconsin.”

“Where there isn’t an NHL team,” Ford replies smartly, “so I’m ride or die for the Schooners now, sorry. Getting myself a season ticket as we speak.”

 “You’re trying to tell me you knew that or who the Schooners even were before you Googled it?”

“I did, I swear! I’ve watched hockey. I didn’t know who was doing well, but I know the _teams_ ,” Ford protests. Lardo stays sceptically silent. “Okay, kind of. Like, five of them, maybe.”

“Yeah?”

“Schooners, Falconers, uhh… Wild?... um, the ones with the angry orca logo and the Red… Things.”

The _Red Things_. Lardo should’ve got that on camera, the group chat would’ve died. Even though they don’t know Ford’s her girlfriend. “Red Wings,” she corrects, trying not to smile too hard. “Good shot, dude. You tried.”

Ford rolls her eyes. “I’ll quiz you on some musicals, see how you do.”

“Badly,” predicts Lardo. “I will sing along to, like, every fucking song you send my way, though.”

“Yeah, unfortunately,” says Ford, aiming for disparaging but looking too fond for it to work. “You’ve got the spirit, I’ll give you that, just not the singing voice. Or the lyrics.”

Lardo shrugs. “Raw talent stands on its own.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Ford taps her pen against her diary, takes a deep breath and asks, “So it’s really okay for me to visit? Because plane tickets aren’t going to get any cheaper, you know?”

Lardo had almost, sort of not really, managed to forget the original topic they’d been discussing, but there’s no avoiding it. And now the idea is in her head, Lardo won’t be able to shift it – she wants Ford to come, because she wants to see her and to share Samwell with her just once before its all in the past.

And because she knows this whole thing is stupid. Someone needs to just give Lardo a shove to get past it and combine a couple spheres of her life for once, and if Ford physically coming to Samwell is that shove then it’s a win-win situation. She wants Ford to meet the team, and Claire, and Lara, and even her parents.

She just needs to tell Ford the whole deal, first.

“It’d be really cool to see you,” Lardo says, because that’s true at least. “Send me the deets once it’s sorted.”

“Will do.” Ford’s smile is so big it bunches her cheeks and Lardo can’t believe she hasn’t seen her since the winter break. Lardo had driven down to see Ford when she was visiting her brother for a few days at Southern Connecticut; it had been nice, except for the fact it was only a couple of days and Ford’s brother was there for like, 90 percent of the time. He’s a chill enough dude that Lardo couldn’t even get (really) resentful about it, but still. Long distance sucks ass. Knowing Ford’s probably not going to be smiling like that once Lardo just says it sucks ass too.

“So, actually, I just wanted to say before you come that I kinda… haven’t told people we’re dating.”

Lardo desperately, selfishly, wants to look away from the screen, but she can’t look away, is stuck watching as Ford’s blurred expression shifts from contented to confused.

“What do you mean?”

Lardo wishes she knew how not to sound blunt, but she isn’t, like, emotionally articulate at the best of times. “People think you’re just my friend. Not girlfriend.”

Ford thinks about that for a bit and Lardo lets her in silence. Her stomach is kind of churning but like, Ford deserves some time to process and Lardo wants the time to try and figure out what to say.

Eventually Ford says, “I thought you were mostly out at Samwell, and to your parents and things, and that they were okay with it. Are they not okay with it? Because you can talk to me if they’re not.”

“I am, and they are,” says Lardo and feels worse at the concern in Ford’s voice. “I just haven’t told them.”

“Oh, okay then,” Ford says, quiet. She’s not looking at the screen, at Lardo, anymore. “Why not?”

Lardo’s starting to feel boxed in and cornered, guilt making her want to lash out. She tries to resist the impulse; she’s probably made Ford feel bad enough already without getting snappy, and she doesn’t have any right to be snappy in the first place.

“I don’t know,” she says, which is honest at least but sounds even worse out loud than it did in her head. What kind of an excuse is that? “I’ve wanted to.”

“Are you embarrassed about me?” Ford asks, and her voice is starting to sound thick and she’s still looking away and Lardo is literally the worst girlfriend in the world.

“No, don’t be stupid,” she says. “Like, that’s not a stupid conclusion but no way, not ever. I’m sorry, we probs should’ve, like, talked about this earlier. I should’ve brought this up.”

Lardo is so, so bad at feelings. And talking about feelings. She just has a lot of them, and they’re so hard to wrangle.

Ford nods. “Yeah, you probably should’ve.”

And she doesn’t say anything else. Lardo’s palms are sweating. She’s not panicking, but, like, her palms are _sweating_.

“Ford?”

Ford breathes out, shaky. “Give me a second to word this.”

Lardo’s own throat feels tight now and her eyes are burning.

She wishes she knew how to begin to put her feelings into words, but it’s always been too hard. It’s okay when her feelings are simple, just plain responses to things, because then she can smile, or groan, or cry, and they can be summed up with easy, quick words like ‘nice’ and ‘ugh’. When they’re more complex than that Lardo doesn’t know where to start figuring it out in her own head, let alone finding the words to convey them to someone else.

The people close to her are necessarily the people that can sort of get it, or at least get her despite it. But even they aren’t mind readers that can just pluck Lardo’s thoughts and feelings out of her brain and save her having to figure them out herself, or figure out how to say them, or figure out how to do any of it in a way that doesn’t leave her feeling mixed up and way too vulnerable and exposed.

And so a bunch of the time she just doesn’t say anything at all, even when she really should, or just brushes the whole thing off, even when she really shouldn’t.

Mostly, it doesn’t backfire too badly. Sometimes it does. Ford still isn’t looking at the laptop screen when she starts to talk and Lardo has scratched the varnish of two nails on her right hand without noticing.

“You know, it’s not like I need you to tell every person you meet. You don’t even need to tell people that matter if it’s something you’re not ready for. I get it. It’s hard. And I’m happy just being with you whatever, obviously.” Ford pauses to wipe her eyes. “I just thought we were on the same page about this, right? And it kind of sucks when it turns out we’ve been going about this completely differently this whole time. I mean, you stayed with me and my brother, but your friends don’t even know we’re dating.”

“I’m sorry,” Lardo says again because she doesn’t know what else to say. Ford looks at the screen at last and Lardo must look and sound pretty miserable because she tries what Lardo can only assume is meant to be a reassuring smile. It falls kinda flat, the effort it’s taking too apparent to be any kind of reassuring.

“I believe you,” Ford says. “I wish you’d felt like you could talk to me about it earlier, though. I would’ve listened.”

“I know.” Lardo _does_ know that Ford would listen, she just doesn’t know if she’d be able to give her anything to listen to.

“But you don’t know _why_ you didn’t,” Ford says, sharp and a little mean. Lardo probs deserves it, and is going to try and, like, validate Ford on that but Ford sighs and the meanness seems to leave her with it. “Sorry, that was uncalled for. Maybe I’ll just hold off on the sorting flights for now, okay?”

Lardo nods. She feels a little sick at the idea that she’s hurt Ford so badly she doesn’t even want to see her anymore, even if that’s not surprising because Lardo sure as fuck would feel hurt. There’s a genuine worry that if she opens her mouth and talks she’s going to do something stupid and unfair and ask Ford to come anyway.

“Okay,” says Ford, and she sounds tired and sad, but a little less lost than before as she lays out the plan, “Well, you’re going to Shitty’s this weekend, right? And I think I need a couple of days of time, plus I have work in like an hour. So let’s pause this and we’ll talk after the weekend. Give us both some time to figure things out, examine how we’re feeling and things.”

Lardo feels like such an asshole it’s unreal. “Fuck, sorry, I forgot today was your shift.”

After the weekend is four and a half days away which feels like an aeon, but she knows it’s probably for the best and if Ford’s asked for the space to think Lardo is hardly going to deny her it. Especially now she’s upset her before her late shift at the fucking dining hall, which Lardo knows is Ford’s least favourite.

Ford shrugs. “Work will probably be good to take my mind of things.”

Lardo nods, and still doesn’t know what to say. Ford says goodbye and ends the call. No I-love-you, no dragging it out. Lardo closes her laptop before the screen goes dark so she doesn’t have to see herself reflected there.

Lardo’s going to need Shitty to get sloppy crossfaded with her this weekend at this rate, forget fucking figuring things out.

Maybe she’ll be able to figure things out hungover. Maybe just talking to Shitty will help her figure things out, actual legit _talking_ to each other like they’ve barely been doing since he started Harvard.

It’s been a good senior year, but it’s been hard without Shitty or Jack, with Bitty’s mind so far away and Ransom and Holster wrapped up in prepping to graduate. It’s not like she can talk to the Frogs about things, as much as she loves them; she has a reputation to upkeep. Claire and Lara are her bros, sure, but they always have so much of their own drama going on. So Lardo’s been doing the brushing things off thing more and more. She’s let the distance grow inch by inch beneath the surface appearances of Haus-living and the group chat.

And she’s used the actual, physical distance between her and Ford as an excuse to put off being, like, emotionally vulnerable or whatever with her friends. Or with Ford, really. It’s always been easier that way, because Lardo hates vulnerability, but with everyone going their own way soon it’s felt more like a necessity than it did before. She's let it become second nature rather than something that felt tactical. 

Plus there's the whole thing of like, having a girlfriend. One thing to bang girls, another to date them, and all that. Ford probably gets that at least a bit.

_Was that so hard?_ she asks herself. _You couldn’t have figured out that shit while Ford was talking to you and just_ explain _it to her?_

Lardo lies back on her bed, her room gone dark since the call started. It feels pretty fucking terrible, to be able to track every little action that’s lead to this, but she figures all she can do now is suck it up and try and do better. If she hasn’t fucked things up beyond repair already.

_we’re ok right?_ she sends Ford, feeling stupid and needy, but if that figuring out was a breaking-up kind of figuring out she’s definitely going to need to get sloppy cross-faded and probably ASAP.

It takes longer than usual, but Ford finally texts back: _yes_

Lardo writes her next message out, deletes it, then writes it out again and presses send: _im going to tell people. i know its too little too late but i want to and i wanna fix it_

Ford doesn’t reply to that one, but the ‘yes’ is still there. Okay doesn’t mean much, but it means they’re not _not-_ okay; Lardo figures that’s probably the best Ford can give her right then, and the best she can hope for, too.

 

\---

 

**Bits**

Lardooooo want to get froyo?? c:

idk if im feeling it today

:(  
not feeling like froyo is not like you, Ms. Duan!

sorry bits :/ nursey was craving some the other day though  
think he left for the library

Texted him! frogs are all up for it. Come if you change your mind?

ya

Lardo closes the conversation with Bitty, flips her phone over in her hand a few times. Kotter isn’t ever quiet, but she hasn’t put on any of her own music yet so it’s just the distant sounds of other people working. Froyo would’ve been chill, and maybe she should’ve taken the distraction, but she didn’t. And she said ‘ya’, but she probably won’t. She should catch up on work anyway.

It’s just. Lardo doesn’t know how to act normal with radio silence from Ford, the whole thing in limbo and feeling no closer to knowing _how_ to explain why it’s been five months and no one knows she has a girlfriend, even if she's starting to feel a little clearer on the whys themselves. Hopefully still has a girlfriend, that is. She doesn’t open her conversation with Ford to check the ‘yes’ text is still there because she _knows_ it is, but it’s a close thing.

She looks at her latest piece and just thinks _blegh_. It’s a painting and there’s nothing wrong with it but there’s nothing right either, and Lardo doesn’t know where to begin to sort it.

Lardo looks at her phone again, considers skimming the group chat but she’s already way behind. She’ll have to wait for the conversation to roll around to something new to be able to have any bearings. She refreshes her email and doesn’t wait long enough for anything new to load before she shuts her phone off again.

It’s her own fault, but Lardo takes a moment to mourn that she can’t even honestly stress Snapchat anyone. Not that that stops her – she takes a picture of her not-wrong-not-right canvas, captions it _UGHHHHHHHHHHHH_ and sends it on its way. She almost includes Ford in the list but unchecks her name just in time.


	2. Chapter 2

“Shits, I want to tell you something,” Lardo starts, and then that’s all that she gets out.

It’s the weekend – she’s at Shitty’s and secretly supposed to be figuring things out. So far, there hasn’t been much of the figuring out bit.

She’d arrived last night, but Shitty’d been so pumped to see her and she’d been too wired seeing him (and too worn out from the journey after her bad few days) to have any kind of heavy conversation. It had been nice just to forget how terrible she’d been feeling and chill and cuddle a bit, almost like old times except for how she listened to him complain about Law School for like, 45 minutes straight.

But that’s what friends do for each other.

And it would’ve been chill if Lardo could’ve just spilled all her guts about everything that’s been happening with Ford. Except she couldn’t spill it all because he doesn’t know that she has a girlfriend who she’s had a fight with because he doesn’t know she has a girlfriend in the first place. Just like at the start of the year right after Lardo had chickened out on the whole Ford thing and it’d felt so, so fucking terrible, but she couldn’t even talk to Shitty about it.

It would’ve been chill if Shitty had just figured it all out. Except it was entirely unreasonable for her to expect him to. None of those things stop Lardo feeling kind of sucky about it, but that’s on her.

So Lardo knows she needs to talk to Shitty about it. It’s for herself and for Ford and because she’s been lying by omission for way too long already.

She starts again, “I wanted to talk to you about–” and then stops. It’s a very-not-fun mix of guilt and embarrassment.

Shitty is trimming his moustache in the mirror with tiny scissors. Lardo has been watching from his desk. He carries on snipping with careful focus, but he sounds earnest when he says, “I’m all ears, man, talk to me.”

Lardo looks down at the wood grain of Shitty’s desk, wriggles around in his spinny chair to rest her feet on one of the armrests and takes a few deep breaths.

She’s promised herself to do better on the honesty and combining spheres front, and it’s gonna be scary and Shitty might feel upset about it and it might make her visit awkward as hell but Lardo needs to tell the truth. Shitty’s always kinda straddled the edges of the spheres anyway – not that spheres have edges exactly – and, huh, that’s a pretty wild image to think about.

But she needs to focus. Honesty and vulnerability and authenticity and shit.

“I’ve been dating this girl long-distance since October,” Lardo says, and once that’s out everything else rushes to follow: “We met over the summer because her aunt lives in Boston, and she was staying with her, but she goes to the University of Washington and she’s from Wisconsin? Uh. She’s pretty swawesome, does theatre and shit, I think you’d like her a bunch. She wants to come down to Samwell for graduation?”

_Or she did before I told her I hadn’t told anyone in my life about her and sorta broke her heart a little (again)_ , she doesn’t say.

“Huh,” says Shitty after a pause. The neutral tone and restrained response are so wrong on him that Lardo feels like the worst fucking best bro in the universe. She should’ve told Shits, at least, no matter the distance and distractions and whatever holding her back. “By any chance is it your UW friend you talk about sometimes?”

Worst best bro _ever_.

But she’s gotta soldier through it. Lardo fucked up her bed, and now she’s gotta lie in it. “Yeah. Her name’s Ford and I guess she’s my… girlfriend,” she says, and a wave of extra guilt follows for sounding so unsure. She remembers how small Ford had sounded when she’d asked _Are you embarrassed about me?_ “Well, I don’t guess. She is. We’re dating.”

Lardo would be pretty fucking happy staring at Shitty’s desk forever until this conversation just faded into the realm of sorted-with-history. That’s not an option, really, but when she looks up he’s already folding away whatever emotional reaction he had out of his expression. Typical Shits. It’s an out of a sort, and she’s gonna take it for now at least, but it’s not one she’s very happy with.

And Shitty still hasn’t said much of anything, so Lardo continues, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, dude. I don’t really know why I didn’t.”

“Right,” he says. “I guess we’ve been kind of riding our own waves this year, huh? Different cities, me drowning in readings and you creating, like, beautiful fucking art. It’s pretty tough cookies trying to keep in touch when we’re not living in each other’s fucking back pockets, so, like, okay.”

Lardo tries to protest with a “Shits, come on,” but can’t think of anything to say after that. It’s kind of true, and she kind of hates it. Shitty is her absolute best bro and she should’ve told him.

“No, it’s okay,” says Shitty, even though it isn’t.

“It’s not you, bro, it’s completely me,” Lardo insists, and it’s complete break-up speech cliché but it’s true. “I’ve been like, thinking about it and it is… _worse_ this year? But you knew me in my freshman year. I’m just not big on the talking about real stuff. When I’m not feeling sa– it.”

Holy shit, she’d nearly said ‘safe’. And that’s bullshit because she doesn’t feel unsafe with Shits – legit the opposite – but there are like, degrees of safeness. Some things take a degree of safeness Lardo just doesn’t feel all that often, not around anyone. It’s more like the unsafeness is from her rather than whoever she’s with. But how is she supposed to put that in words and explain it to Shits?

Shitty puts down his moustache scissors and moves further away to sit on the bed. It feels bad, and distant, so Lardo wheels over to him and puts her feet in his lap. It’s strange; Lardo feels like she can handle these things so much better in a one on one, face to face kind of situation, where there’s nowhere to rehearse or hide or overthink. All because of something as small as being able to communicate with touch. 

Even if that touch might get rejected, even if Ford might not have wanted Lardo to touch her anyway if they had been able to talk in person instead of over video.

But Shitty doesn’t push her feet off, just continues, “All right, I hear that. I guess I also want you to fucking know that… you don’t have to tell me this kind of thing. If you’re just not comfortable with it, or she isn’t, or I made you uncomfortable somehow, as much as I hope to fuck I didn’t–”

Lardo resists kicking him in the balls. “Don’t be a dumbass, bro. It’s not anything you did.”

Shitty tentatively rests his hand on her ankle. Lardo doesn’t realise how worried she was that something had broken between them until the rush of relief she feels at Shitty’s always-too-sweaty palm sticking to the skin just above her sock. He sounds a little steadier, too, when he asks, “So it was what Ford wanted?”

 “Uh,” says Lardo. “No? She thought I had told you dudes and she’s kind of upset with me for not, like, being honest and shit. Not in a forcing me to be out way, just because I didn’t like, trust her.” Lardo’s voice trails off towards the end. Ford’s been so reasonable about the whole thing, so fucking kind, and Lardo’s been swanning around as the emotionally stunted douchenozzle again.

Well, stunted in some ways. It would be so much easier to only actually feel as little as she feels like she can adequately express, but no dice.

Shitty summarises every potential response to that with an emphatic “ _Brah_.”

“I know, I know,” Lardo whines. She’s not gonna like, get the waterworks going again about it, but she does have a bit of a tickle in her throat.

“Brah,” says Shitty again, but a little gentler.

“I guess it’s just hard because like,” starts Lardo, and then she gives herself a pause to think. She wants to try and explain it.

Shitty lets her, because he’s always known when to let a dude parse it all out in their head before they spit it out so he can bend over backwards to try and find a solution.

“I guess since it’s senior year and everyone’s so separate it’s hard to get to the kind of zone where I’m like, comfortable. Idk, I’ve not been dealing with that as well as I probs wanted to think I was? And then on top of that, because it’s one thing to be, like, bi and sorta out in theory and another to actually–”

“Engage with that?” suggests Shitty.

“Yeah,” and then, “No. I don’t know, it doesn’t make sense to feel weird about telling people I’m _dating_ Ford when I’ve been open about banging people since, like, day one? Especially because like. I thought I’d got through all of that when I got the chop and shit and then people could kinda _tell_? But that’s where I’m at.”

Shitty pats her leg supportively. “Well that’s a legit place to be, dude.”

“Yeah,” Lardo agrees, because she thinks she’s starting to get that. She’s gonna have to work to not feel like sharing something as close to her heart as a relationship is an unbearable vulnerability, but recognising she needs to put that work in is probs the first step. Figuring out weekend is off to a flying start, with only one joint passed between them, and that was last night. Early this morning kind of last night, but still. “Ford was mega hurt though.”

“You said sorry and shit, right?”

Lardo just looks at him.

“All right, don’t get the fucking kill-stare out! I barely know this lady thanks to you, I’m just trying to make you feel better.”

Lardo sighs. “I asked if we were okay and she said yeah, so.”

There’s a pause. It still doesn’t feel okay, and Lardo still doesn’t know how to tell everyone or if she can or what to say to Ford whenever they next talk. But she feels a bit better. Shitty pats her ankle a few times like he understands.

“Want to forget your girl troubles and the existence of Harvard Law by getting schwastey as fuck at midday like we’re still in undergrad?” he asks. “We can figure out some kind of game plan as we go if you want.”

“I haven’t graduated yet, old man,” Lardo replies. “But yeah okay, let’s get schwastey. We’re not going to fucking end up drunk texting the group chat like last time though, all right?”

“Who do you take us for, Lards?” says Shitty, seemingly happy to ignore the fact his moustache is now unevenly trimmed as he heads over to browse his collection of alcohol. “We’re nothing if not classy motherfuckers.”

\---

**SMH (Suck My Heinie) Group Chat**

_Uncle Shits_  
OKAY EVERYON e shut the FUCK up!!! your benevolent manager has WORDS to share with u

_Ransypoosywoosy_  
p sure this chat has been quiet for like at least 7 hours bro

_Itsy Bittsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Wellie_  
And that’s gotta be a record!

_Chouchder_  
Oh no did something happen??

_Our Lardo and Saviour_  
ok first i AM muting this chat after this cos im not drunk  
but i don’t want my phone to crash  
 me and shits are watching man v food on it and just took a break

_A Damn Bi-rkholtz_  
you guys are watching MVF without me??? where’s the fucking integrity  
the concept of friendship

_Chouchder_  
oh I love that show!!

_Nursery Rhyme_ _Time_  
brooooo come watch it with me when im done with this paper?? old episodes only ofc

_Itsy Bittsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Wellie_  
y’all mind if I join?

_Jay-Zed_  
so I’m in an alternate timeline where you have three papers and a report to finish, Bits

_Itsy Bittsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Wellie  
_ very funny, Mr Zimmermann!

_Ransypoosywoosy_  
omgggg

_Chouchder_  
ohhh wow

_Our Lardo and Saviour_  
damn jack  
anyway i have a gf, it’s ford at UW and we’ve been dating for 5 months  
she might come for graduation. Idk.  
see ya!

_A Damn Bi-rkholtz_  
ok who taught Jack to joke about timelines this is uncanny

_Chouchder_  
proof we’re living in the most surreal timeline

_Pok_ _éDEX_  
not going to lie, he’s making pie with me right now, Jack, sorry

_Nursery Rhyme Time_  
yo Bitty keep it on the downlow but I will trade pie for secret MvF time just saying  
oh fuck lards what for real? haha wow chill

_Chouchder_  
omg Lardo!!!!!!

_Itsy Bittsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Wellie_  
MS LARISSA DUAN!!! Goodness!! I’m speechless

_Pok_ _éDEX_  
oh ok cool news

_Jay-Zed_  
haha nice

_Ransypoosywoosy  
_ I knew u were getting less busy this year! holtzy our wingman skills aren’t fading, we’re just putting them to use where theyre not needed

_A Damn Bi-rkholtz_  
jesus Lardo what a relief, you couldn’t have said? Rans was having an identity crisis

 

**Bits**

I cannot believe you drop this kind of news when you’re away in Cambridge  
how do I ask you for deets now!!  
I have to wait a whole day for you to come back  
….. at least Facebook exists as a mine of information!  
studying who??  
I’m so happy for you Lardo oh Lord

B)  
thanks bits  
but really do get on thsoe papers  
orders from ur very not drunk manager xox

 

\---

The next day when Lardo dares to risk the blinding light of her phone screen and scrolls through her messaging history, she does have a moment of _oh holy fuck what have I done_. It’s plain instinctual, built up over years and a load of annoying internalised whateverthefuck. The next is a feeling of intense relief. It’s done. People know; not everyone, not her art friends or her family and no one that in depth except Shits, but it’s out there.

She just wishes she could hear from Ford. There had been a bit of Lardo, sure, at the start that had thought if she did this it would be like proving herself to Ford. Like, _I can be a good girlfriend I promise_ , as fucked up as that it.

But now that it’s done, and people know that she’s really out here dating Ford, she’s shocked how much of a weight of her shoulders it is, and she wants to share some of that relief with her girlfriend. Because like, Lardo loves Ford and it’s lowkey sucked not being able to share how swawesome that is, and how swawesome Ford is, and now she can. Subject to potential fines, obviously, but Lardo is pretty sure she can work her away around those.

_i told the team_ , she sends to Ford, even as a good 70 percent of her brain screams at her that it’s vulnerability and risky and badbadbad.

Lardo is really fucking tired of letting that part of her brain do whatever; she’s worked _hard_ at Samwell to be somewhere close to actually confident in herself and find peace with like, being a quiet Asian art kid, who’s bi, and who still yells herself hoarse at hockey games. The complexity of the human experience and shit. She’s done more than enough backsliding on that progress because she’s not been admitting she’s freaking out – now she’s just gonna have to pull herself back up. She adds, _it was chill. let me know when u can skype tmrrw_

She sends a heart emoji along after a two-minute gap, and the fact the time stamp is going to be two minutes later so Ford is going to know Lardo went back and forth over sending it eats at her. But there’s nothing to do about that, and Lardo is pulling herself back up, dammit – that is, after she feels a bit less hungover. She groans and shuts off her phone, feeling pukey and headachey.

“If you’re gonna blow chunks, my dude,” says Shits calmly from where he’s curled around her, “I politely ask that you do it on the bathroom floor, preferably in the toilet, or in fact on my jackass roommate’s bed.”

Lardo isn’t going to vomit. She’s not some rookie. “You’re psychic,” she remarks, “And brutal. On his _bed_?”

“The guy deserves it,” is all Shitty says, and Lardo has heard enough about him to know it’s true. But the poor cleaning service don’t, and she isn’t gonna puke so it’s irrelevant.

Ford hasn’t replied to her text yet. Lardo reminds herself about a little thing called time zones, and doing other things, and that Ford is entitled to her feelings. She moves closer to Shits, whose post-getting-schwastey smell of stale sweat, beer, and weed is gross but grounding. “Make me a coffee.”

“How about you make _me_ a coffee, bro.”

“No,” says Lardo, because what would be the point in that?

Ford would’ve made her a coffee. Maybe. Probably not, even if they hadn’t argued, but still.

“We could split the coffee making,” suggests Shitty.

Lardo sighs dramatically and dismisses that idea out of hand. “Guess we’ll just have to lie here until we dehydrate and die, then.” She’s not sure how much hydration can be gained from coffee, but it is a liquid and it’s not alcohol, so it can’t be that bad. More importantly, she wants some.

Lardo has to get back to Samwell today, has to deal with all the chirping she’s sure to get, has a deets session scheduled with Bits and the biggest pot of froyo she can reasonably buy with the twenty dollars in her bank account. She has to deal with the stress of waiting for Ford to reply and then arranging and trying to figure out what to say if Ford agrees to Skype, and how to stuff her entire body with baked goods if Ford doesn’t. And she’s going to be hungover for all of it. If Lardo doesn’t get a coffee, she’ll turn into dust.

They last another quiet fifteen minutes.

 Shitty says mournfully, “I really fucking need to piss.”

“Go and piss on your jackass roommate’s bed,” replies Lardo, rolling deeper into the blankets when Shitty staggers out of the bed, “And then make me a coffee after.”

“Fine, you fucking tyrant – Fuck, Lards! Ouch – I mean, sir, yes sir.”

\---

Ford gets back to her, and Lardo manages to make her way back to Samwell without hurling. She schedules to hang out with Bits and twenty dollars of frozen yogurt after she talks to Ford, because that way if it goes well she can give him up to date deets and if it goes badly she won’t be by herself.

And so here she is. Sitting on her bed, staring blankly at her laptop and listening to Chowder clatter about in their bathroom, fulfilling his week of cleaning duties, as she waits for Ford to come online. It’s kinda creepy, maybe, just having their call log history open and waiting for the away symbol next to Ford’s icon to turn green, but Lardo is trying to both psych herself up and calm herself down. She wants to be ready, and focused, and all those things.

The clock in the corner of her screen ticks over to 11:30 and the icon turns green, but there’s no call. Lardo watches, waiting, as the clock declares it 11:31 and then 11:32 and then she decides to make the first move here. She clicks call and Ford answers almost immediately.

Long distance means not seeing each other, not really, but this is the longest they’ve gone not seeing each other at all post-Lardo’s ghosting incident. The sound comes in first, before the image can load, and Lardo’s kind of glad for it because she’s trying to get into this emotional honesty shit but Ford doesn’t need to see whatever expression is on Lardo’s face when she hears her voice again. It’s only been four and a half days, but it feels like forever, and Lardo’s heart is doing all kinds of stuff.

Ford says, “Hey, can you hear me?” and if Lardo could teleport her right here to the Haus this second, she would.

“Yup,” she says. Being open about shit doesn’t mean she’s going to suddenly become a chatterbox.

“Awesome, I can hear you, too. I can’t see you though?” Ford sighs, and there’s some clicking and clacking of keys, “This Wi-Fi, I swear to God– oh, wait, I think it’s working?”

It’s still a really shitty connection, but Lardo drinks it in, pixelated blurring colours and all. Ford is still _Ford_ , even though she looks tired. She’s possibly still in her pyjamas, which is so unlike her (even though Lardo knows she doesn’t have class until two on Mondays) that she’s thrown off whatever psyched up calm she’d reached. 

“Hey,” says Lardo, completely unnecessarily.

“Hey,” echoes back Ford, and she’s smiling for real for a moment before it fades into something a little contained, maybe a little sadder. “Can I go first?” she asks.

Lardo tries not to sound too relieved when she replies, “Yup.”

“Okay, so firstly the last few days have sucked. But they’ve also kinda been really helpful?” Ford starts hopefully, and Lardo’s face must look some kind of way because she’s quick to qualify, “For me, I mean. I found the space helpful for thinking.”

Lardo tries to school her expression into something more neutral, even though she isn’t lying when she says, “No, dude, I agree.” It doesn’t make sense, the sting she’s feeling at Ford’s words, when she’d just said it sucked and when Lardo both agrees that it sucked and has been helpful. But it’s still there. “You can carry on,” she says after a pause.

“Oh. Okay. Cool.” Ford takes a breath and a long sip from her water bottle. It’s the same patterned one Lardo knows from a thousand Snapchats that Ford takes with her everywhere. “So like I said, it sucked but it was helpful. Basically, to cut a lot of soul searching short, I’m not gonna lie, I’m still kind of hurt? But I get it. Shit’s hard and scary, and I’m not like, blind to you feeling like it’s extra hard and scary. I wish you’d felt comfortable talking to me about it, but I get it and I’m not going to hold it against you or like against us or anything.”

“Right,” says Lardo. She’s so relieved she feels maybe sorta lightheaded.

“Right,” Ford echoes after a pause. “But maybe, I was just wondering, if you did do some thinking, you have an answer that isn’t I don’t know? For why you didn’t tell me?”

That really does sting. Lardo knows Ford doesn’t intend for it to be mean but it still hurts, having a failing and insecurity pressed on like that. But Lardo has to be real. Overall, Ford is taking this really well, and she deserves at least an explanation now Lardo has one to give.

So, as coherently as she can, Lardo explains about the spheres of her life, and the habits she’s fallen into now everything and everyone is at a metaphorical crossroads, and the vulnerability in being honest that’s always terrified her. She looks away from her laptop though as she talks, because it’s early days yet in the whole process of expressing stuff

“I’m trying to like, turn it off or change or whatever. For me, but also I want to try for you? So, yeah. This is me, uh – _trying_ ,” she finishes, kinda lamely.

On the screen, Ford looks somewhere between deeply touched and deeply fond. “Is that why you sound so pained?” she asks, a smile creeping onto her face despite the serious conversation. “The amount of effort you’re having to put into trying?”

Lardo tells her, “Shut up,” but she finds herself smiling too.

Ford mimes zipping her lips, then immediately breaks it by saying, “Well, for both of us I’m glad you managed to figure that out and tell me about it, and that you’ve got like, a game plan. In future I’ll work on communicating stuff, too. Cool?” Ford looks truly settled for the first time since the call started then, with a plan of action to go off.

Lardo can’t say anything else except a, “Cool,” in agreement.

“Nice,” Ford says, her shoulders relaxing, but she sounds sadder when she continues, “I got your text about telling people, by the way. I didn’t want you to have to if you weren’t ready, I’m sorry if I made you feel pressured.”

“You did, kinda,” Lardo admits. Ford’s face falls and Lardo is quick to continue, “But like in a good way? Like, a lot of stuff isn’t my comfort zone, so I’m pretty attached to the stuff that is. And that’s chill, but only like in moderation. Sometimes I just need someone to give me a gentle kick in the ass to push me out of my comfort zone. Which you did. So thanks.”

“You’re welcome, then?” says Ford uncertainly. “You know, I could’ve given you a gentle kick without both of us having to get upset and not talk to each other.”

Lardo winces. Ford _had_ said she was still hurt about it. “I know. Sorry.”

“No, sorry, it’s cool. I get that it’s tricky. And like I said, we’ll just have to like, communicate and shit next time.”

“Ugh, gross,” says Lardo on automatic, and she doesn’t _mean_ it but she kind of does, even though she’s working on it. Ford looks like she gets that.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says. “So are we good? Because I ate like my weight in ice cream and did some soul searching and missed you, so I’m good.”

“We’re good,” Lardo confirms. It’s such a relief, but she does still need to come clean. “I haven’t told my parents yet, though.”

Ford’s “Okay,” is carefully neutral, leaving space for Lardo to continue or not as she chooses.

“They’re okay with me,” Lardo elaborates after a pause. “Like, they really are. But sort of not? Just a bit?” Which doesn’t really explain anything.

But Ford is already nodding in understanding, expression sympathetic. “I think I get what you’re saying. Okay but sort of not. That sucks, sort of.”

“I will tell them eventually,” Lardo says, just to make it clear. “Not because you’re pressuring me! Just logistically it doesn’t make sense not to.” Then, since she’s on a roll of honesty and it has to be sorted at some point: “And I don’t know if you changed your mind eating ice cream and exploring your heart or whatever, but I would love to see you over the summer and for you to come to graduation. Even with my parents there.”

“Hey,” Ford protests, “all the ice cream and deep thinking just solidified that wish. But you’re really sure? Don’t feel like you have to do it just for me.”

Lardo isn’t sure, if she’s being honest. It still makes her skin feel prickly and exposed to think about, having Ford here and doing girlfriends like that, with all her friends and her parents. But first, it’s not unmanageable and second, it’s stupid. She wants to have her fucking girlfriend visit, and she fucking will, hang-ups or not.

Lardo says more confidently than she feels, “Dude, I love you and I haven’t seen you in the flesh in months and it’ll’ve been even longer by then. Please come.” She tries not to literally wince at herself for how fervently the last bit comes out.

“Aw, babe, I miss having in person sex with you, too.” Ford teases – probably sensing Lardo’s unease with the seriousness, because she’s good like that – and then adds, with a put-upon sigh, “And I love you, too, I guess.”

“More importantly,” Lardo continues, because her girlfriend is super sweet but also a dick, “All the guys want to meet you now they know you’ve bagged the most eligible bachelorette Samwell has to offer.”

Ford’s eyebrows raise. “The _most_ eligible? Well, aren’t I lucky.”

“Punching above your weight, is what you are, bro.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” says Ford. Then hesitates. Lardo has half a mind to backtrack in that pause, thinking again of _are you embarrassed about me,_ but before she can Ford is smiling and saying, “Okay, then. Fine. I’ll come visit you.”

Lardo’s pretty sure her heart like, starts singing in her chest or something. She hadn’t realised how nervous she was that Ford was going to say no until she said okay. She gets hit with a fresh wave of missing Ford, but it’s not as bad as it could be because Ford is going to visit in a matter of _months_.

“You’re sure you can still afford the plane tickets?” Lard asks before her hopes get too high.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Ford says and then she laughs. “I know you refuse to leave the state of Massachusetts, Larissa, and so know approximately jack shit about flying but it’s only been like four days. Tickets aren’t going to go up that much in that time.”

“I don’t _refuse_ to leave,” Lardo protests. Except she _can_ count on one hand the times she has gone out of state. Hm. “I just like it here.” One day she is gonna travel, but for the time being Massachusetts gets her rhythms and Lardo values that. Nothing wrong with it.

“Masshole to the bone, huh?”

“All right, cheesehead.”

Ford laughs again and says, “Fuck off, you know I’m lactose intolerant.”

“Yet you still ate – your words, by the way – your weight in ice cream.” Lardo kindly doesn’t point out that Ford has eaten all kinds of lactose-containing products before, with nothing but Lactaid by her side and the stalwart acceptance that if she dies, she dies.

Putting on an air of snotty condescension, Ford explains, “It was Coconut Bliss ice cream, Larissa.”

“Oh, duh, of course. _Obviously_ it was Coconut Bliss,” says Lardo, rolling her eyes at her own ignorance. “Hey, you know no one is going to know who you’re talking about when you’re here if you call me Larissa, right?”

Ford shrugs. “Then I’ll call you Lardo. I’ll be one of the crew!”

Hearing ‘Lardo’ in Ford’s voice is simultaneously incredibly weird, a disorientating overlapping of spheres, and kinda hot. To cover that mess, Lardo chirps, “Crew? It’s a hockey team, dude.”

“I meant crew like _group_ , like you’re all friends and shit,” Ford groans. “Just for that I’m not coming to support you in rehearsal.”

Lardo doesn’t even need to say anything. It takes a moment, but then the realisation hits and Ford rests her head in her hands. “I’m not coming at all now, period.”

Lardo wishes she could pull Ford’s hands away from her face, just so she could kiss her cheek and then chirp her a little more, all while internally melting a little at how adorable she is. “It’s okay, I’ll give you a crash course before you get here. Okay, first, what do we call the sharp, scary special shoes the people have to wear?”

Ford hangs up.

Lardo gives herself twenty seconds or so to fully feel the relief that it went okay and that _they’re_ okay, and to maybe freak out a bit about all the emotional vulnerability going on earlier, and to feel excited and flustered and in love freely with no one watching.

Then she calls Ford back, at least six different chirps all ready to go.

\---

In the end, it doesn’t magically get easy to be honest and open and whatever the fuck else Lardo imagines is like, emotionally healthy. There’s a sorta line, too, where it stops being healthy for her and starts being forcing herself to be someone she isn’t, and she’s still trying to figure out where exactly that line is.

It gets easier to call Ford her girlfriend, mostly because it turns out no one on the team gives a fuck other than to use her as a bargaining chip and to tell Lardo they already like Ford more than they like her. It’s not easy, and it’s not easy when she tells her parents before they come down for graduation and they’re very quiet, but it’s easier.

In the end, Lardo clings to Ford embarrassingly long when she finally gets to Samwell, and Dex fines her a quarter of what that kind of thing deserves. Ford gags when she smells the boys’ hockey gear, and she says _holy shit that’s back at it again at Annie’s guy_ when she sees Nursey, and she falls in love with Jbrizzle. She yells embarrassingly loudly for not only Lardo at graduation, but also Ransom and Holster and Claire and Lara and some random LAX dude she for some reason thought was a hockey bro.

Ford meets Lardo’s parents at their request; Lardo listens to them chat, easy and polite, and doesn’t know how anyone would fail to be charmed into liking her. Her parents aren’t quite charmed, exactly, but her mom at least looks kinda more at ease than before and her dad compliments Ford on keeping regular optometrist appointments. Lardo brings it up that night, slightly tipsy, when they’ve both almost drifted off to sleep and Ford gets such a bad case of the giggles they stay up an hour longer.

In the end, Ford does joint them at the game when she comes to Providence. Her and Bitty soul-bond the moment they meet, and so when he says, “You’re not coming to the game? But you’ll love it! We can get you a ticket.”, Ford replies, “Oh, really? Okay!”

Lardo stares at them. It’s not like she’s Ford’s girlfriend and has been trying to convince her to give hockey a chance for _literal months_ with no success. But whatever. It’s hard to hold on to any frustration for any length of time when she’s still riding the high of graduation, and getting to see Ford for real, and nearly all of her best friends being here while their other best friend is playing the fucking Stanley Cup playoffs.

That high gets a major boost when Ford throws away any and all loyalty to the Schooners roughly five seconds after the first puck drop. It forges her an even more deeply unbreakable bond with Bitty, who is the only more devoted fan out of the lot of them, and with Ransom who looks like he wants nothing more than to suck Tater’s dick on the ice.

Ford’s eyes are bright and her headband all askew as she demands all the hockey knowledge they can bestow upon her ears in the break between first and second period. Lardo listens to the onslaught of jumbled explanation, leaning against Ford’s side and taking a sip of Ford’s miraculously intact hot chocolate. When she offers her own know-how, Ford turns to grin at her and says, “You know, you’re the smartest person ever. This is so fun! Also, can you explain the offside rule better than Holster is, _please_.”  

Holster is still acting insulted by the time the second period starts; by the end of it he and Ford are high-fiving at the Falconer’s hold on their lead.

And in the end, when they’re back in Boston and Ford has visited her aunt but still all the boxes are half unpacked and no one can look at them a moment longer without getting a rash, Ford comes with them when they go out to forget it all with drinking and dancing.

They go to a few other places first, but Lardo’s the only one having any real experience of growing up in the area (“Sorry, Shits,” she says, “You were at boarding school.”) With everyone asking for her recommendations, it’s only a matter of time. All quite thoroughly on the way to schwastey, the group heads to the club that Lardo had met Ford in last summer.

It’s busier than it had been last time, when Lardo had felt someone’s eyes on her, looked over and realised the girl watching her was cute even under all the flashing lights. It had been easy then to approach her, dance with her, go back to her place and have sex with her, because it hadn’t really meant anything.

It’s almost as easy now to keep a hold of Ford’s hand on the dancefloor as the others go up to the bar for them just in case Ford’s fake ID gets clocked. And maybe it’s dumb, because it’s not like holding hands is some declaration of a relationship or love or whatever, and it’s not like Lardo needs to prove herself here of all places, but still. It kinda feels like a measure of progress into the person she’d like to be, and Lardo will take that.

Ford, who’s had a knowing look since Lardo suggested the place, has since switched to watching her with a soft expression which means she’s thinking mushy thoughts and on her way to drunk. She leans in to yell into Lardo’s ear, “Life goes full circle, huh?”

Lardo thinks about where she was a little less than a year ago, scouting this same space for a bit of escape in some drunk human contact, maybe a quick hook up if it worked out that way. She hasn’t undergone some massive overhaul of who she is, or her life in general, in the time since. Her plan for the next year is still to chill with Shitty, Ransom, and Holster, and to play around with the possibility of an MFA, which is about what her post-graduation plan has been since sophomore year.

Except before that, Lardo’s parted with a chunk of her savings for a trip to Madison, Wisconsin towards the end of summer – for her sins – and then for a flight to Seattle. She’s going to annoy the shit out of Ford’s housemates, hanging around for three whole weeks. Three whole weeks with Ford, then back to Boston and long distance, and then they’ll figure the rest out together. Hopefully. Most likely, because Lardo doesn’t want to think about if they don’t.

Except before _that_ , they’re in this club, the same one where they met almost a year ago, and it’s life come full circle except for all the little details that have changed and add up to having changed everything.

“Eh, kinda,” she replies, and then she pulls Ford in closer to dance.


End file.
